L&O: Reflections
by lupinskitten
Summary: Claire recovers from the horrific incident in Nightmares, just in time to help McCoy face Danielle Melenick down on a new case. Features Lennie and Logan, as well.
1. Chapter 1

**REFLECTIONS**

The empty desk across the hall from his office was disarming. Everyone passed by it with a lingering glance, knowing what had transpired to grant her removal from it. There wasn't a single person in the building who hadn't heard about Claire's misfortune, an event so traumatic that it had removed her from work detail for two weeks. Those two weeks had been the longest of his life. McCoy had spent them in a virtual state of distraction, constantly arguing with his appointed second chair and finding that he missed her desperately. He had stayed with her that first night, had known emotional anguish when he looked into her lifeless eyes. Claire had been in shock for several hours, before gradually returning to the world around her. She had fallen asleep in his arms, and he had sat there holding her, staring into nothing and wondering what might have happened, thanking God that it _hadn't _happened, in that empty warehouse.

McCoy was not surprised when Adam Schiff waved him into the office. His boss seemed to be keeping a close eye on him these days, no doubt concerned what personal influences the recent case would have on his work. Leaving his files on his desk, and loosening the top button of his collar, Jack stepped through the door and at Adam's instruction, closed it. Adam was a soft soul at his heart but rough around the edges. No one would think to look at him that he could drive a hard bargain, but he had been a formidable attorney in his day, and kept an iron fist on his department, determined to live up to his reputation.

"The police finally have enough to convict Ben Grantlund. I considered giving it to Kibre, but she's not familiar with capital cases. I want you and Miss Kincaid to take it."

He knew the case well, had been monitoring it from a distance. Van Buren had even called him down to the precinct, to watch the interrogation through the one-way glass. Ben Grantlund was accused of a case so horrific that they had attempted to keep the details out of the press. One of Jack's dark eyebrows lifted, and his brown eyes obtained an incredulous expression. "Adam, don't you think, considering the circumstances, this might not be wise on her first day back?"

"Claire Kincaid is a District Attorney," Adam said, sinking into the chair behind his desk. It was littered with open case files and law books, for he had spent much of the morning cross-referencing cases for assignment. "If she can't handle it, we need to know now."

His tone implied there would be no argument, but the aggravated motion that accompanied Jack McCoy leaving his office implied his orders were not well received. McCoy was obedient, but occasionally insolent, a trait that had earned him a number of reprimands in court. His youthful nature, his driven desire to win, made him a formidable and harsh attorney in the courtroom, but beneath the hard edges was a sensitivity he attempted to conceal from his peers. No one bothered him as he stalked across the hall and closed his office door. When he emerged an hour later, as the elevator doors opened and admitted the slender form of his assistant, there was nothing but confidence in his stance. He was not sorry to have landed the case, because it hit close to home and wanted to see the man behind bars the rest of his life, if not strapped to a gurney with a needle in his arm. But he knew that recent events had made Claire sensitive, that this might not be the wisest case for her to handle her first week back. He attempted to keep these concerns out of his features as he strode toward her, a hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.

Claire felt relieved to see him, to escape the lingering stares of her colleagues as she walked gracefully down the hall, her brief case held loosely in one hand. It was a relief to return, to see the sunlight dancing across the polished floors, to pass the potted ferns and gather her messages from the secretary at the desk. More than one voice welcomed her back, but it was Jack who was the most glad to see her. There was concern behind his eyes as he walked with her to her office, but affection in the softening of his voice as he said, "It's nice to have you back."

She smiled, and he saw some of the old Claire in her again. The first several days after the incident had found her in an emotional frame of mind, but Claire was a fighter. She had never bent beneath her father's intimidation, or the men she worked with, and refused to allow one man, living or dead, to regulate her life. There was still that sense of insecurity whenever she entered her apartment; a natural turning of her head to reassure herself no one was there in the hall as she took out her keys to unlock the door, but she was no longer afraid. She would not let fear control her.

"I don't know how you managed without me," she quipped, resting her things on the desk.

Jack stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam, hands in his pockets. It made him look even taller than his natural height. "I never realized what an asset you were in the courtroom until they saddled me with Ramsey," he said dryly. "Pray you never have him as second chair in one of your cases, Claire. His incompetence astounds me." He straightened. "Adam wants to see you in his office. Then it's off to Rikers, to stare down another criminal in the hopes of a plea bargain. I'm not so sure you'll still be glad to be back by the end of the day."

They exchanged a knowing smile, and she shrugged off her outer coat and hung it up as he left. Then taking a slight breath, she crossed the hall and knocked on Adam's door. His gruff voice bid her enter and she disappeared. McCoy turned back to the trainee holding out a document for him to sign, and examined the sheet without any true comprehension. It was a few minutes before she reappeared, her features slightly flushed but determination in her walk. McCoy paced with her to the elevator and as they were going down, alone in the golden box, he said softly, "Are you going to be okay with this? I can debrief him on my own."

"I read the case file. I want to be there."

Claire deliberately avoided looking at him as the elevator doors opened and let them out on the ground floor.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been many weeks since she made this same trip to Rikers, and as the metal doors swung closed behind them, she felt a shudder. On her last visit, she had stared across the table at the man who had terrorized and brutalized her in her home. But her hand remained steady as she signed her name and took the visitor's tag. They walked down a long hall and through another set of doors, into a small visitation room where the accused awaited them, along with his defense attorney. Claire was not surprised to see a familiar head of auburn-brown, and flashing dark eyes beneath a formidable countenance. Cases such as this were precisely the kind that Danielle Melenick loved; controversial, and headline grabbing.

The defendant stood near the window, which was too high to see out, with arms crossed. He was rather tall and angular in feature, with a mercenary brow and muscular forearms. He dwarfed his council, who was a powerhouse of energy despite her tiny size. "Jack," she said with a slight edge to her voice, for everyone knew the friendly rivalry between them, "I was surprised to get your call. I hope this is worth an hour of my time in midday traffic."

Resting his business case on the small metal table, McCoy glanced across at the defendant. "I'm here to remove the death penalty from the table in exchange for a plea," he said quietly. It was not what she expected. Whenever McCoy had such a strong circumstantial case, he loved letting it go to the jury. He would tear apart her witnesses on the stand, and paint such a strong picture of the horrific crime that on occasion, one of the jurors would leave the box in tears. She had known him a long time, and learned on their first trial together never to underestimate him. But there was nothing of manipulation in his gaze as he stared across at her, only tired resignation that indicated he was no more pleased about it than she was.

"You surprise me, Jack," she said after a moment, taking a seat behind the table. It was a motion the others copied, all except the defendant, who remained silent in the far corner. Claire could not help watching him, studying the profile that was turned from her in all coldness. There was a sense of profound quiet to his stance that she found disconcerting. "I thought Adam Schiff would want blood, considering Vin Dissel is one of his most supportive constituents."

"The family of the victim would prefer the details of the case not be made public, but if your client doesn't accept the deal, make no mistake: I will bring out every sordid little detail and let the jury decide what to do with him. It's the quickest route to the needle. The general public has very little patience for pedophiles."

His eyes, as he turned them on the defendant, were cold. Claire, seated at his side, could sense nothing of the man she spent so much time with, nothing of the sense of humor that invaded long hours pouring over documents and eating cold take-out. There was something in him that she couldn't explain, some deep-rooted hatred that flowed from his form into hers effortlessly. It was more than revulsion at the case they were forced to try, at the thought of the burly figure harming a helpless child.

Danielle leaned her arm against the back of her chair and turned to look at her client. "Ben?"

He came nearer the table, frustration expressed in the motions of his large, weathered hands. He was a carpenter and the strong fingers were deformed over years of abuse. "I didn't do it, and I'll tell you what you can do with your deal."

Jack's eyes narrowed and he pushed away from the table. "Always good to see you, Danielle," he said.

The attorney smiled slightly and removed a familiar blue notice from her bag. "Don't sign the death certificate yet, Jack."

She handed it to Claire, who lifted her eyebrows in disbelief at the contents. "Extreme Emotional Disorder?" she demanded. "How do you justify that?" Her brown eyes lifted from the typewritten page and shifted to the figure still standing silent in the background. Ben Grantlund met her unwavering gaze without hesitation. There was something cold about him. She could not determine what it was that unsettled her, but it lingered in his countenance and the hardness of his gaze.

"My client was aware of the horrific home environment Samantha Brewer was subject to," Danielle intervened, "and in a moment of panic, removed her from the premises. He never intended to harm her. He was trying to _protect_ her."

Jack could not keep his disbelief out of his voice, straining the gravely tone slightly as he exclaimed, "Oh, really? Then maybe he would care to explain why he wrapped plastic around her neck, and held her underwater until she drowned!"

"You don't know what they intended to do to her!" shouted the defendant, and he was halfway across the table before anyone had time to respond. Jack never flinched, looking into the man's eyes only a short distance away from his. The door flew open and the guard came in to restrain Grantlund, dragging him back as he shouted, "I was only trying to help her!"

Danielle looked as shaken as the others felt, turning with one hand on her lip to regard them with something akin to self-satisfaction. "You cannot tell me he doesn't have an emotional defense in court," she said. "I'll see you at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, in Judge Tremlin's office." She picked her case up off the table and left them. Jack rose to his feet, feeling his heart slowly return to its normal pulse, and closed his hand around the chain link. When she could speak, Claire inquired, "Do you think he's mentally incompetent, Jack?"

"How much of a difference would it make if he were?" His hand still on the wall, Jack turned to her with resignation. "He abducted, terrorized, and murdered a child, Claire. He has a temper, but that's not a mental disorder, and the rest could be an act. It's easy to cry wolf after the fact. We know he took Samantha from her home a week after he finished a job they had commissioned from his company. We know her body was found eight blocks from his apartment in a dumpster, and the plastic wrapped around it was covered in his fingerprints. We have an eyewitness that puts him with a little girl at the subway station. He has admitted the kidnapping charge. Murder is not that big a leap in a juror's mind."

Claire's heels made a clicking sound on the cement floor. In them, she was able to look McCoy almost in the eye. He was excessively tall, a fact that diminished other people in the courtroom and gave him the advantage. Eyes instinctively followed him, even when he was seated. "Do you think she has a chance of convincing them otherwise?" Claire asked, as they signed out.

Jack finished scribbling his name, barely legible, on the sign out sheet, and removed the visitor's clip from his lapel. "Danielle is a good attorney," he relented, "and Tremlin enjoys chaos in his courtroom. The question is whether or not the jury will buy it. If they do, she's just removed the needle from her client's arm, although he still could get life. What he said about Samantha's parents has me concerned. Have Briscoe and Logan find out all they can about the Vin Dissels."

"He's one of Adam's biggest supporters. Adam isn't going to like us digging through his trash."

Pushing open the outer door into the parking lot, Jack retorted, "I really don't care."

Claire had been so focused on the case that only now she realized how glad she was to be out of Rikers, to breathe deeply of the salty air blowing across the prison yard. This would give her something to sink her teeth into, something to avoid the melancholy thoughts that came to her in odd hours, in moments of silence; the memories that she was attempting to forget, all but one: Jack holding her in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been awhile since she darkened the door of the precinct, but it was as familiar as returning home. It was a slow week in the city and while the phones still rang, and detectives still ran through heavy files, at least one of the men she sought was at his desk, tie off, jacket tossed over the back of his chair, leaning over a half-eaten sandwich and open file folder. Lennie looked up as she approached and half stood, but she waved him back into his chair and perched on the edge of the desk, moving a stack of files out of the way.

"Claire," he said warmly, with one of his unforgettable smiles, "it's good to see you again."

He sounded as though he wanted to say more, was even tempted by it, but then refrained. Claire understood. It was the same awkwardness that accompanied every conversation she had endured in the last several days. Everyone was surprised to find her back at work, responsive and glad, but nevertheless felt as though they were walking on eggshells. "I see I haven't missed much," she replied, indicating the scattered pages. "Just soggy food, long hours, and endless homicide investigations."

"Do you want half?" He offered her the plate knowing she would refuse it, and she shook her head. Brown locks fell around her face, softening her sharp features. Claire was beautiful in her own way, but there was something about her that made men slightly wary. He could understand McCoy's natural desire to protect her. Every man who knew her shared it. In those hours that she had been missing, all of them had gone through nine levels of hell. Lennie had never been so glad as to see her in that darkened building, to hear the sound of her voice, and know she was safe.

"I'm here to talk about Alan Vin Dissel. Before you found the kid, what did you learn about him?"

Lennie leaned back in his chair, his pen still idling in his fingertips. "Vin Dissel?" he repeated. "_The_ Alan Vin Dissel riding our ass while we tried to find his daughter? We looked into him. Solid businessman, no enemies that we could find, his financial records are more than secure, and he had an alibi. There was no reason to dig deeper."

"McCoy wants you to. The defense attorney intends to present a claim at court that Samantha's home life was threatened, and that's why she was removed by the defendant."

"So the pervert wants to cast suspicion on her old man? That kid was well taken care of. We talked to all her teachers. She was a bright student, and that nanny of hers hardly ever left her side. We would have uncovered it, if anything was going on." Lennie looked into her penetrating gaze, the formidable set of her expression, and sighed. "But we'll go back and double-check!" he added.

Claire was amused, and her lips twitched as she pushed away from the desk. "Thank you." She turned to go and literally collided with Mike Logan on his way in. The long brown coat he seemed never without bore the brunt of it, but he immediately removed the pen from his mouth, dropping a handful of file folders, and said, "Hey, it's about time you came back! It's been hard coercing suspects without you! Ramsey just doesn't carry the clout!"

"So McCoy tells me. It's nice to be needed." Claire glanced at Lennie, who purposefully turned to his desk and feigned interest in his work. Her tone softened and eyes lowered before searching out Logan's gaze. He was a hothead, a playboy, and could never be taken too seriously, but she knew he was concerned about her, that the look of panic in his eye when he'd shot her assailant hadn't been merely a rush of adrenaline. "I've been meaning to thank you," she said softly.

"We can't have the best ADA in the city out of commission, can we?" It was said in a joking tone, but she knew what he meant. It was as close to an admission of affection as she was going to get. Claire lightly punched him on the arm, and faded down the hall. Logan turned to watch her go, the elegant stride, the purposeful heels, the hand folded at her side holding a business case.

"I should have shot him the first time I saw him," he said. No one but Lennie heard it, and there was unspoken agreement in his gaze as he reached for the fallen files.


	4. Chapter 4

Tremlin was an older man, balding but still as sharp and contrite as ever. He was known for being fair but harsh. McCoy had tried more than one case before him and lost, which made it a fortunate luck of the draw for Danielle Melenick, who entered chambers with confidence. There was no defense to argue against her claim, for they had no proof either way. If her client had been out of his mind at the time of the abduction, it did not condone his later actions, the fact that he had kept her a week, hidden, fully aware of the wrongdoing in his response.

"I see no reason why the defense should not be allowed to present EED at trial," Tremlin said after he heard their arguments. He sat behind his desk, comfortable in a suit and tie, hands folded before him on the flat surface.

Jack could not argue with him, for he knew their claims were weak at best, but as they walked down the corridor, turned to Claire and said, "I don't want to go into trial without some idea of what Danielle has up her sleeve. What have the police turned up?"

"So far, nothing conclusive. There's no evidence of former physical or sexual abuse, and the coroner claims the bruises on the body were within the time frame that Grantlund had her. I know that you've been friends with Danielle for a long time, Jack, but is it possible that she's just blowing smoke under your collar?"

Amusement surfaced in his eyes as he turned to look at her. "Danielle would never present any case at court that she was not sure she had a legitimate chance of winning. Tell them to dig deeper, and look into everyone related to the family that comes in and out of the household. If Samantha was previously abused and the defendant has knowledge of it, they could come out in court saying her death being an unfortunate accident and might have a valid hope of getting a hung jury. I don't want to try this case twice."

"His daughter can place him at the train station with a little girl she believes might have been Samantha, hours after the abduction," Claire said as she pushed out the revolving door of the courthouse. "But she doesn't want to testify against him in a capital case. I'm going to take a run at her this afternoon. Do you want to come?"

The wind hit them, a warm breeze from uptown that sent her dark hair flying. She lifted a slender hand to halt it, her fingers entangling in the long strands. Jack looked at her a moment, and she saw that he was tempted, but then the look in his eyes changed slightly and he said, "I can't. I'm taking off early this afternoon, to meet my daughter at the airport. She has a two-day layover."

Claire had never met Jack's daughter, though when he did speak of her it was with affection. He was a very private individual in the office, disinclined to discuss family affairs. It was well known his reputation for dating his assistants, but beyond that few people knew much of him. It had been only recently when she had learned of Alana's existence, and that was a reference in passing. She lived with her mother in Chicago, the product of a fairly amiable divorce. It had been a marriage that worked for a time, and then drifted as its participants became overly involved in their work. His wife had been a prosecutor who then went into private practice, and he had spent long hours at the office. It had been a mutual parting without a violent custody battle.

The hand holding her hair out of her eyes lowered and she smiled. "Have a good weekend, then, Jack," she said. "I'll have something substantial on your desk by Monday."

He gave her one of his amused glances and progressed away from her down the stairs. Claire stood a moment watching him, and then went to catch a taxi.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday morning brought the first day of their grand jury proceedings, and McCoy was present an hour before he was required. He spent that hour poring over the case files with his assistant, who noticed he made no reference of his weekend. He was halfway to the door when Claire remarked, "Did you enjoy your visit with your daughter?"

He turned, the smile in his eyes unmistakable. His daughter was one of the rare sources of joy in his life. Claire was watching him expectantly from behind the desk, leaning over her paperwork and granting him the slightest hint of skin beneath her collar. "I actually feel rather sorry for her," he said. "She's far too much like her old man. She was half determined to come down here this morning, before her plane took off, but I convinced her otherwise."

"Are you afraid we'll tell her the truth about you?"

This was a much more forward flirtation than he was accustomed to, for Claire attempted to keep him at a distance. There were moments between them when it seemed possible, when he stopped concentrating on the case and instead studied his companion, times when she appeared at his door at two in the morning with hair disheveled and bags under her eyes, to hand him a coroner's report, and he thought her miraculous. His hand dropped from the knob. "More concerned that she'll have suspicions," he replied.

Claire wiggled the pencil in one hand, a nervous habit she had picked up when contemplating the appropriate response in law school. She knew how thin the ice was beneath her feet, but was too impetuous to care. She knew it was bait, and wanted to see the hook. "About what?" she asked.

The look he gave her was almost diabolical, the slight sweep of her form that his eyes made as he reached again for the door. "You tell me," he responded lightly. "I _am _known for sleeping with my assistants." He opened the door and vanished, leaving her in indignant amusement behind him. Claire shook her head and put the corner of the pencil into her mouth, finding that she was studying the space he had just vacated. Though his tone had been cavalier, there was something more meaningful beneath it, and for the first time since their first meeting, the thought was not entirely repulsive to her.

Jack was in top form and had no difficulty reaching an indictment, but their investigations into Samantha's home life continued to be inconclusive. Adam was breathing down his neck, because Alan Vin Dissel was up in arms over the investigation, and he was none too glad to leave the office that evening and take the subway downtown. He knew where Danielle usually dined and wasn't surprised to find her seated behind a little round table in a sheltered alcove. She looked up as he approached and he saw the satisfaction in her face; she never took pains to conceal it. "Jack, just in time for the tortellini. Have your bloodhounds sniffed out the truth, or are you here to sweeten the plea bargain, off the record?"

Reposing in the chair across from her, Jack did not rise to the bait. "Danielle, you know me just about as well as anyone in my office. You know that I am as eager as the next man to convict anyone who deserves it, but I'm about justice. I don't buy this EEA defense, not for a minute. If it had been simply kidnapping, perhaps I might have been more lenient, but he held a six-year-old underwater and let her drown. Even if he took her out of some warped sense of fatherly instinct, that elapsed the minute he deprived her of any future at all."

Danielle wound her fork around a piece of noodle. "I do know you, Jack," she confided. "I know that when you're a dog with a bone, you can be ferocious inside the courtroom and out. You wouldn't be here if you weren't concerned that you were overlooking something."

"I don't think I am."

"Then what, this is just idle curiosity?"

He leaned toward her, resting his arm on the tablecloth, his voice low. "I know the Vin Dissels are one of the most respected families in the city, that their financial records show nothing amiss, that we checked into the background of everyone in that house and turned up nothing. Either your client is concealing information from the police that could help his case, or he is deceiving you. I need something, Danielle. I cannot just accept your word for it!"

"And what does my client get in return?"

"How about I don't prosecute him with an obstruction charge?"

Danielle laughed and leaned back into her chair, laying down her fork on the edge of her plate. "Oh, come off it, Jack!" she chided. "You cannot prosecute him for withholding evidence while he's on trial for murder. I'm not about to throw away my entire case just because your detectives can't do their job."

Mild irritation surfaced. "I trust your judgment on some things, Danielle, but why are you defending him? Whatever possessed you to take this case?"

"He wouldn't have gotten a decent defense from anyone in the public office."

"Just because they're not in the private sector doesn't mean public defenders aren't damn good attorneys."

Danielle shook her head and glanced away from him, out across the restaurant bathed in soft light. Most of the people in the room were businessmen and their clients, husbands and wives out on a romantic dinner. There was none of the antagonism that accompanied their singular presence. "Do you think I want to defend the lowest of criminals, the bottom feeders on which society preys and avenges its sense of self-worth?" she asked. "I do it because I know every once in awhile, there's one who is innocent, and on the rare chance that he winds up in my courtroom, he should have the opportunity to prove it."

They stared at one another frostily across her wine glass. The waiter came along to offer him something and he turned it down. Jack listened to the murmur of voices in the background, the people enjoying a quiet evening after a stress-filled workday. He then asked, "Off the record, do you believe there was any danger to that child in her home?"

"I know that my client thinks so. Now either he is the most magnificent actor I have known or he genuinely believed Samantha Vin Dissel was facing something worse than death. I know you cannot pursue this too far, Jack, but for God's sake, throw Adam Schiff's political aspirations aside and look into it."

"There's _nothing _on the father," he stressed.

Danielle looked at him across the table. "I never said anything about the father, now did I?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Don't you ever go home, McCoy?" Lennie quipped as the lean figure approached the open office door. Van Buren was gathering up her things, preparing to return home later than usual, since she had been debating with the chief of police on the phone for an hour over the case. Jack was without his usual charm as he replied, "I need to talk to you about the Vin Dissel case."

"Look, the chief of police just spent an hour telling us to drop it," Anita intervened. "I'm not one to back down under pressure, McCoy, but I gotta tell you, this could get ugly real fast." The strength of her voice only compounded the emotion in her features, normally so complacent. Anita was one of the most remarkable women he had known, despite their rocky beginning. Jack had been forced to put her on trial shortly after their first meeting, but the months that had lapsed since had given her cause to respect him. He looked warily at her a moment, and then said, "I know, and I'm ready to assume the full responsibility."

"And when Schiff comes down on you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

They shared a knowing glance and she purposefully picked up her things, sliding the strap of her purse over one shoulder and leaving them to a slowly emptying precinct. The night shift had come on and most were working quietly behind their desks. Logan had gone home, and Jack assumed his chair behind the desk facing Lennie, so they might talk. "Danielle Melenick hinted this afternoon that we might want to look into Elaine Vin Dissel's history, rather than that of her husband," he said. "Did you do any follow-up on her at all?"

"Nothing beyond the usual. Her coworkers love her, and the servants have never said anything bad about her."

"Look into the financials, and see if she has paid anyone off. In the meantime, let me see the file."

It was passed into his outstretched hand, and for the next several hours Jack read every line of the police reports, the interviews, the witness testimonies, the detectives' observations. Lennie was more proficient in record keeping than he anticipated, and he barely noticed the cups of coffee that came and went, the dimming of the lights, the strain on his eyes. When he finally did look up, it was past two in the morning and he was one of a handful of people left. He spoke briefly with the officer on duty and returned home.

Claire was surprised to find him on her doorstep the next morning, eager to confide what he had learned from the files. One or two witnesses were reluctant to speak to the detectives, but their statements had held inconsistencies so mild that an initial investigation had overlooked it. She was not surprised when mid-afternoon, Lennie Briscoe turned up on their doorstep. "You were right, McCoy," he said before he was halfway in the door. Jack looked up from his lunch and the brief he was reading, his sleeves rolled up and tie askew. "We looked into Mrs. Vin Dissel's records and she has had several complaints against her by former coworkers, accusing her of violent behavior. They were never fully prosecuted because the victims suddenly decided not to press charges. I wouldn't be real surprised to learn money changed hands. We talked to the housekeeper and after some _encouragement _she confided that the kid had been slapped around a bit. Supposedly, the banister railing where they had the work done was broken when Mrs. Vin Dissel pushed her daughter down a flight of stairs."

The attorneys shared lingering glances across the desk.

"I trust you've arrested her."

"Half an hour ago. She's in the precinct screaming for her lawyer. I thought you should have the head's up before her husband calls your boss."

Jack made a slight face and pushed back in his chair. "I appreciate that," he said. Lennie nodded and vanished down the hall, exchanging greetings with one or two of the prosecutors he knew from the building. Claire closed the law book open on her lap and watched as Jack ran his hands over his face, a gesture that revealed how tired he was.

"When was the last time you got any sleep, McCoy?" she inquired.

He smiled. "You might want to vanish for an hour down to arraignment court. Adam is going to walk through that door any second." He looked at her, noting her poise as she got up off the couch. She dropped the book on the desk, onto a stack of hearing notifications, and replied, "It was my case as much as yours. I'm staying. What do you plan to do about her?"

"Prosecute her for child abuse and endangerment. Her actions lead directly to her daughter's death. I might not be able to nail her for negligent homicide, but she's not going to get away with it, no matter how many campaign contributions her husband makes."

The door edged open and Jack rose to his feet as a familiar head peered inside. Adam leaned against the doorjamb, his fedora still crooked on his brow. He had been on his way to lunch. He looked at them both long and hard, then managed, "She was beating on her daughter?"

"So it seems."

Adam shook his head. "A kid is dead because her mother hit her, and a do-gooder thought he would 'rescue' her by taking her life. What a mess. Call Melenick, offer her a plea." He appraised their astonished expressions, clicked his tongue in disapproval, and vanished down the hall on his lunch hour. Claire sat down on the desk, finding her legs would no longer support her, and said, "Adam must be going soft in his old age."

Jack started putting papers into his business case. "He's a parent," he said. "He looks at those photographs of Samantha Vin Dissel and sees the face of his granddaughter." Glancing up, he found Claire watching him perceptively.

"When you looked at those photos," she said, "did _you_ see your daughter's face?"

She didn't really expect an answer, for it was rare that they tread this deep. Jack's hand fell to the desk and for a moment he avoided looking at her. Then he felt for the straps on the case and said, in a voice that remained soft but unwavering, "Yes. Every time I see a young woman's picture, every time I hear a rape or molestation case, every time I am forced to wallow in the gruesome details of the absolute evil that runs rampant in our society, I think about my daughter. That's why I do this job, because I want the parents of these children to have some justification, a belief that though the system might be flawed, it will bring about ultimate justice for their loss."

Claire had never been a parent, but she sensed the powerful affection that rippled through that statement, a fatherly need to control some aspect of the world in which his daughter lived, to prevent her from meeting the same felon on the streets that he cross-examined in the courtroom.

"Grantlund may not be insane," he said, "but his justification won't hold up in court, and Danielle will take a plea. After that, this evening, I will take you out to dinner."

He did, and it was quite a different aura between them as they spoke of everything except work, deliberately avoiding the mundane details of their caseload. Claire walked with him down the narrow hall to her apartment, the lights burning low and the sound of her neighbor's television barely audible through the walls. She unlocked the door and looked at him. Jack almost accepted her unspoken invitation, but then said, "Good night, Claire," and walked away down the hall.

Entering the darkened room as he left, she flipped on the near lamp and dropped her things onto the couch. Standing there a moment, she found her ambition would not be dampened and returned to the door, drawing it open just as he lifted his hand to knock. He crossed the threshold impulsively and took her into his arms. The door swung closed behind them and she felt its smoothness against her back as he pressed her against it. His long fingertips caressed the side of her face. She was overwhelmed by his scent, the same slight smell of aftershave that captivated her in the office, by the feel of his gentle arms around her, by the taste of the wine on his lips as they lowered to hers. She responded desperately to him, drawing him against her.

Though he loathed letting her go, Jack softly pulled away. She ran a hand through her hair, and watched as he reached for the doorknob. "See you in the morning," he said mischievously.

And vanished into the hall.


End file.
